


What Would God be Without His Devil?

by TimmyJaybird



Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: Anal, Anal Fingering, M/M, Murder Husbands, Rimming, do not read if you haven't watched Su-zakana, lots of God/Devil imagery, slight praise kink, slight semen kink
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-04-19
Updated: 2014-04-19
Packaged: 2018-01-19 23:22:48
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,052
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1487893
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TimmyJaybird/pseuds/TimmyJaybird
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Takes place directly after episode 208, "Su-zakana".</p><p>Will can still smell it, the blood and the hay, and needs something else to fill his head. He needs someone else to fill his skin for a minute, so he can define who he really is- but in the end, he knows, he's no one and nothing more than Hannibal.</p>
            </blockquote>





	What Would God be Without His Devil?

**Author's Note:**

> Seriously don't read if you haven't watched "Su-zakana".  
> On that note. I had to do this, I just had to.

The door slammed shut, and Will stared forward, out through the glass. Around him, the lights flashed red and blue in the night, the police surrounding the barn, having taken over the scene as the real FBI trickled in. Will had managed to go ignored, had not fought when Hannibal placed a hand to his lower back and guided him out to the car, helping him in. He sat with his hands wringing together, smelling straw and heavy blood in his nose, the scent stuck within his sinuses.

Hannibal climbed in a moment later, eyes sliding over to Will, a quick, liquid glance, and then the engine of the car was purring and they were pulling away. Will watched out the window as it all disappeared into the night, the lonely road allowing distance to swallow light and scent and sound until it was nothing but a memory- a fuzzy picture inside Will’s head.

Will licked his lips. “We probably shouldn’t have left,” he pointed out, and his voice felt like it was echoing straight out from his throat. “If Jack shows up, he’ll want to talk to me.”

“Then he can call you,” Hannibal replied, “at a decent hour.” Will said nothing, flexed his hands, felt Hannibal’s covering his, brushing against flesh and steadying the gun.

“You could have let me do it.” He swallowed, his throat constricting over the possibilities. “It’s what you want, what you’ve always wanted. Me unhinged, ready to plunge into the abysmal maw of my own undoing.”

Hannibal said nothing, but let his burgundy eyes slide over to Will again. Will was staring with level, grey eyes, flecked blue in the right light. Not this light. His lips were parted, slightly, breathing not yet calm and even, but close.

“I want nothing more than you’re recovery.” Hannibal locked his eyes on the road again. A light snow had begun to fall, spotting everything with that translucent white. “You were my friend, Will. I want to see you well.”

“Your definition of well is _different_ from most.” Will leaned back, closing his eyes, inhaled but it was all straw and blood. “I can smell it still.” He raked his hands up over his face, into his tamed curls, wishing he could jump into boiling water and scrub it all away. He barely noticed as the car pulled over, only when the engine suddenly went silent. He pulled his hands from his face, saw Hannibal open his door, get out into the snow, and Will followed suit, confused. He didn’t ask his question though- it seemed like wasted breath, useless words. If Hannibal had something to say, he would say it- with words or gestures or a brush of his hand, it didn’t matter.

It would be said.

Will shoved his hands into his pockets, looking out at the empty road, the trees lining the snowy ground a few yards from the road. Utterly desolate. He sucked his lip into his mouth, heard the crunching of snow beneath Hannibal’s shoes, felt his present before he saw. Hannibal closed in, slipping up close to Will as he had in the barn- an invasion of space that Will didn’t mind. Something about Hannibal sliding into what was his calmed his erratic heart.

The thought of Hannibal slipped past the confines of his skull and into his brain- it was soothing where it shouldn’t be. It was melodic where the sounds should have crashed like bouncing glass. But Will felt drawn to it- despite all this. Despite knowing what Hannibal had done to him- and continued to do, would forever do so long as Will lived.

Hannibal reached out, sinking fingers into his hair, thumb stroking along his ear, as he had before. He leaned in closer, and Will felt him breath, felt the warmth on his lips, could see it in the cold air. When he inhaled, he hoped it was the same air that had circulated through Hannibal’s lungs. He wanted to pull it inside him, internalize the man in the most intimate of ways- until Hannibal was his blood, his oxygen, the very marrow in his bones. Until he was Hannibal- because he saw the stark, terrifying beauty in that.

Hannibal breathed again, warmth and soothing, and Will inhaled through his nose, deep- and this time, instead of straw and thick blood, there was the warm, musky-sweetness of Hannibal’s cologne. It made Will’s head feel light, and his body began to relax, Hannibal’s thumb stroking lightly along the shell of his ear.

“Let it go,” Hannibal whispered, “You are no longer in that barn, Will. You are with me.”

“And who are you?” Will looked up through thick, dark eyelashes. The snow was sticking to Hannibal’s hair, and Will wanted to run his hands along it, feel it melt against the heat of his palms. He closed his eyes for a moment, lips parting as he inhaled again. “Are you the devil, Hannibal? Are you god?”

Hannibal stared, watched Will’s eyes open, and in the fading moonlight they were impossibly blue and endless, alive and beating and enough to drown. “I am whatever you need me to be.”

“Show me what I need.”

Hannibal’s grip tightened then, and he leaned closer, head tilting slightly, mouth so close Will could _just_ feel it. He looked at him for one last moment, and then Hannibal’s mouth was covering his, sweet and warm, and Will let himself be sucked into the slow movements, light caresses along his mouth that made his stomach coil up hot. He reached out with one hand, clasping at Hannibal’s arm to keep him form pulling his hold away, had to inhale through his nose and was drowning in his cologne again, in heat and _life_.

When Hannibal pulled his mouth away, Will could have given chase. He fought it, kept steady, stared at him, at the slightest color on Hannibal’s cheeks. Was it the cold, or something else? Will realized he hoped the kiss had undone something inside the man.

“Is that what you think I need?” Will asked, letting go of Hannibal’s arm so the man could pull back. Hannibal watched him, head tilted slightly.

“You need me,” he whispered, “In any way you can have me, Will. What would God be without his Devil?”

Will moved without thought, before thought- before the concept of thought could even exist. He pushed Hannibal so his back pressed against the car, pressing right into his body and tangling his hands in his hair, finding his mouth and devouring. His kiss lacked the calmness of Hannibal’s- he felt rabid suddenly, hungry- needing to consume and keep something inside his ribs of this man before it could be washed away under the snow drifts. He opened his mouth to harsh angles and Hannibal followed, tilting his head back almost painfully to give Will the access he needed. Will pressed his tongue past Hannibal’s lips- received entry and a lovely sound around the muscle as Hannibal sucked on it, and a tremble passed through him. Despite the endless layers of clothing Hannibal’s heat was there, radiating up into Will and making him feel alive in ways only _this_ devil could.

“Hannibal,” Will breathed into his mouth, felt the man’s hands clutching along his sides, pulling him even closer. Hannibal felt like a man below him- he felt wingless, talonless- not a god or a devil but simply a _man_ , and Will was melting over him like the snow on his cheekbones and he couldn’t bring himself to care.

For a moment he forgot the world existed outside their little snowy nightscape.

He pulled back to breathe, watched his breath mingle with Hannibal’s. “I need this,” Will admitted, felt Hannibal’s hands tightening on him. _I need you_. Hannibal leaned forward, nuzzled at his neck and jawline- affectionate, and something caught in Will’s throat because _affection seemed so ugly, so wrong_. It couldn’t exist between them, not now, not after everything. He closed his eyes and swallowed but he couldn’t escape the sweetness lingering in his head, the heat, the feel of Hannibal kissing gently as his pulse.

Hannibal pulled away only to turn and open the door to the back seat, and in one fluid motion grabbed Will’s hand and fell back into it, landing on his back and pulling Will over top him, allowing the younger man to blanket him. Will gasped, and for a moment- a brief, startling moment- he _laughed_ , before a hand was in his curls and guiding him down for a kiss again, this time Hannibal’s tongue finding its way into Will’s mouth, tasting him, testing his teeth and their sharpness. Will nipped and gave a small groan, a minuet roll of his hips, and Hannibal responded by bucking up against him, leaving Will gasping.

_I need this_.

Will hated his clothing then. He wanted something baser, wanted skin on skin and the feeling of Hannibal’s fire engulfing him. He wanted it all and didn’t think he could have it, here. As perfect as it was. But Hannibal’s other hand was on the small of his back spreading fire, holding him there, and Will felt the cold breeze through the open door but slowly it all faded, until there was only Hannibal’s mouth beckoning him on, down a path light by the fires of his burgundy eyes inside Will’s mind.

“We can’t do this here,” Will breathed, grinding down almost shamelessly and groaning, aching as he grew hard and needed things he had thought had long lost their luster. Hannibal stared up at him, as if he had issued a challenge, and Will gasped as the man managed to sit up, shifting Will around and pressing him into the seat, reaching out to grab the door and closing it with a loud _slam_.

“Can’t,” Hannibal whispered, “Or won’t?” Will saw a playful smirk on his face, and worked the few buttons of his own coat open, holding the man’s gaze.

Underneath his need for comfort, for touch and a sort of human contact that seemed so impossible, Will still held the need to pull the power from Hannibal’s finger tips and swallow it down. Hannibal smirked, straddling his thighs and kissing him again, deeply, working at clothing, tugging and unbuttoning almost desperately.

Will thought that perhaps, underneath it all, Hannibal needed this just as much. Maybe more.

Hannibal pushed at layers until his hands were against Will’s bare chest, stopped to roll his nipples beneath his thumbs. Will gasped into Hannibal’s mouth, rocked his hips up and wanted to tear at Hannibal’s clothing but couldn’t bring himself to move beneath him. Instead his felt his breathing quicken, until Hannibal pulled his hands away and hunched over him, one hand slipping between them, cupping Will through his clothing and squeezing gently. Will trembled, once, and Hannibal smirked against his mouth.

“You are such a masterpiece, William,” he breathed, and Will felt a fluttering elation in his chest. “What god sculpted you?”

“I’m your creation,” Will responded, words breaking at the end as Hannibal worked his pants open, tracing his fingers along the shape of his erection through the thin cotton of his underwear. “Are you admitting to godhood now, Dr. Lecter?”

“If that is what you desire of me.” He pulled Will free, wrapping his hand around the silken skin pulled taught and stroked along him. Will moaned, eyes rolling back, leaking precum down along his length, slickness that Hannibal spread with his strokes.

“All I want from you,” Will whimpered, squeezing his eyes shut, “is a _distraction_.” The word was a heavy lie, and Will knew Hannibal knew. The man continued to stroke him, bringing nerves to life that had gone untouched by another person in far too long.

“Be honest with me, Will,” Hannibal breathed, “and tell me again.”

“Comfort,” Will forced out, and he was wrapping his arms around Hannibal’s neck and finding his mouth, wanting to lose himself in it. Hannibal gave it to him for a moment, that perfect release of himself where Hannibal drank him down and Will forgot who he was, what he was- _how he was_. He would have drifted away entirely if Hannibal’s hand hadn’t stroked so exquisitely along his cock.

When Hannibal pulled away Will whined, watched him climb off him. “Everything,” Hannibal breathed, eyes roaming over the layers that clung haphazardly to Will. Will understood and kicked at his shoes, lifted his hips and pulled clothing off, discarding it into the dark of the car and not caring. Hannibal guided him so he was on his knees, pressed to the back seat and leaning up over him. The psychiatrist's mouth sound his side and trailed down along it, nipping at his hip, the flesh of his ass, and Will shuddered.

“I show you everything,” Will whispered, clutching at the seat as Hannibal tilted his hips slightly, parted flesh with skilled hands. “And you _give_ me everything.”

Hannibal’s response was to press his mouth to Will’s entrance, kissing and licking gently, making Will shiver and gasp, a cry strangled from his throat. His cock jerked, leaked against the seat and he didn’t care- didn’t think Hannibal would care. This was the end, everything after was inconsequential.

Either Will would find what he needed, or he wouldn’t. And what he needed was _Hannibal_ , if he could find him beneath the tightly stitched flesh suit the man touching him wore. Already his warmth seemed to melt the seams, and Will was catching glimpses. He bowed his head as the flat od Hannibal’s tongue ran along his asshole, leaving him wet, so that when Hannibal pulled back and breathed Will shivered and mewled.

Hannibal shifted around, contorting to get to Will in ways that were making his back ache, but he ignored it- just as he ignored his own arousal, how he ignored everything that wasn’t Will in that moment. He pushed his tongue into Will’s body, and the man arched up, crying out, pushing back, suddenly undone in such a sweet way that Hannibal wanted to _praise_ him, tell Will how perfect he was, how well he was doing. But he didn’t want to pull his tongue away, and instead silently thought the words, tongued Will’s hole until the man was whimpering.

“H-Hannibal stop,” Will breathed, head shaking. “I...I can’t...I’ll...”

Hannibal pulled back, exhaled, made Will give a little begging sound, pressed his mouth to his lower back. “I want you to,” he whispered, “For me, Will.”

Will looked back, caught Hannibal’s eyes in the moonlight. He stared, felt Hannibal reach around him and take his cock in hand, stroking him, owning him. Will’s eyelids grew heavy, and he turned, hung his head in resignation, and Hannibal grabbed one ass cheek with his free hand and returned to his hole, pressing his tongue along it, into it, feeling Will squirming, pulsing in his hand. “Talk to me, Will,” he whispered, each word an exhale along Will’s muscles that made his stomach tighten.

He pressed his tongue along him again, not inside, and Will shivered. “That,” he breathed, as Hannibal’s hold on his cock tightened. “Do that Hannibal.” Hannibal obeyed, running the flat of his tongue in long, heavy strokes along Will, and the knot in his stomach became impossible. “Make me come undone,” Will breathed, nearly sobbed as it was all becoming too much, and the air in the car was suddenly hot and heavy and suffocating, and he wanted Hannibal to push him face down into the snow to cool him off, to take him in every wya possible.

Hannibal had to be inside him. Hannibal had to be _everything_.

Will pushed back against Hannibal’s tongue, breaths coming erratic and broken, and Hannibal knew he was close, was ready when Will rocked into his hand and cried out loudly, muscles convulsing. Hannibal’s palm covered the head of his cock, catching his orgasm as he licked Will through it, until Will was slumping away and gasping, his cheeks wet and yet he didn’t know when he had cried.

Hannibal straightened up, used his lean hand to turn Will as he settled in the seats next to him, pulling him against him and kissing his curls, the sweat on his forehead. Without much thought, Will reached for his slick hand, grasped it and pulled to to his mouth, running his tongue along his palm and slowly lapping up the mess he had made.

His essence was that of god and the devil combined. Will needed it back inside him- because it was Hannibal’s in a sense as well. God and the devil, forever entangled in every fiber of their beings. Not two creatures but a divine chimera of glory and desire and a reasoned darkness that filtered through their veins. Will tasted himself, and Hannibal licked at the side of his hand, his tongue brushing Will’s, making him shiver.

When Will kissed him, it was _we_ that he tasted, not the singular _me_ , but an us. He clutched one hand into Hannibal’s hair and devoured his mouth, his other hand working open his pants. He wasn’t done- needed to not be done, this couldn’t end, not yet- not now. Not ever.

“Never stop,” Will breathed, his thoughts a tumble of Hannibal and his cologne and his touch- not a trace of blood or straw or the gun in his hand. This was a separate world for just that brief moment.

“Only you can stop this, William,” Hannibal whispered, reaching up, and Will sucked on the two fingers that were offered to him, running his tongue along them in a way that had Hannibal’s cock twitching, still confined in clothing. He reached around Will, pressed two fingers into his still wet hole, and Will gasped, eyes rolling back for a moment.

“I don’t want to,” he admitted, “Not ever. Don’t let me. Don’t let me stop. _Please Hannibal_.” Will wasn’t sure what he was begging for- for Hannibal to touch him more, for the promise that he could have Hannibal again and again _and again_ -

Or for Hannibal to let the gun stay heavy in his hand next time. To whisper in his ear that it _would_ feel good, in the end. And then he would envelope him again, after, when it was done and there was nothing left to snuff out. Then Hannibal would drink him down and undo his seams and stitch him back together in a way that Will could recognize.

He rocked back against Hannibal’s fingers, groaning when a third was pushed into him, licking his lips and wrapping his arms around Hannibal’s neck, finding his ear and kissing below it, before resting there, gasping into it.

“Don’t stop me next time,” he breathed, “ _let me go_.”

Those fingers curled and Will gave a broken sob, before they were pulled away and Hannibal was working quickly at his clothing. Will slid off his body, bending down as his cock was freed and sucking him for a moment into his mouth. Once he was resting along his tongue Will wished so badly to end it like this, to feel heat and salt on his tongue and down his throat- but the need to have Hannibal _within_ him was greater. Hannibal barely got his pants and underwear partially down his thighs and Will was climbing onto him, willing to let Hannibal’s still fully dressed status go.

_Next time_ he silently breathed. _Let there be a next time_.

Hannibal held him, one hand cupping his ass, the other bracing his own cock, and Will slid down of his own volition, head tilting up and mouth opening as the world crashed around him. He heard nothing but the pleased groan that Hannibal gave him, felt nothing except the wonderful intrusion into his body until Hannibal’s arms wrapped around him, holding him still as he nestled his neck, kissed and mouthed his skin.

“What am I, Will?” he breathed, rocking his hips slowly. Will felt nerves light up that had never been touched before, felt his body ache despite his release.

“You’re god,” he whispered as Hannibal pulled back, looking down at him through thick lashes. He lifted slightly, lowering to meet each of Hannibal’ thrusts, watching those burgundy eyes go dark and needy. “You’re the devil.” His breathed was growing ragged, each breath ripped from Will- and he could cum again, possibly. Something was building at the base of his spine, something heavy and hot, as Hannibal brushed his cock along a sweet spot hidden inside Will’s wanton body. He shook his head, leaned down and kissed Hannibal, bit his lower lip until he tasted blood, swallowing down the metallic salt and then lapping at the wounded flesh. “You’re everything,” he sobbed into his mouth, clutching at him, and Hannibal pushed up so deeply into him Will saw nothing but white, and he cried out into his mouth, breaking the kiss, his body convulsing, muscles tightening, but his body having nothing to give.

He felt Hannibal shudder beneath him, felt the heat in his body, filling him, and welcomed it. He slumped down against Hannibal, panting, rising and falling with each breath Hannibal took, and turned, whispering into his ear, “You’re me.”

Hannibal’s arms wound around him, held Will steady, and Will inhaled- cologne and sweat and the heavy scent of sex lingering in the air- sighing content, never wanting to move. The thought of Hannibal leaving his body was almost sickening- the emptiness that would follow an ache he did not want to know.

Hannibal turned and kissed at his forehead, his curls, murmuring to him, and it was soothing. “You make me forget.”

“What do I make you forget, Will?” His name on the man’s tongue made him whine, gently- Hannibal said it so much Will could almost believe the man thought it holy.

“Forget the rest.” He forced himself to straighten, to look at Hannibal. “Forget the blood and the gun and the _fear_ when I want to. And you make me remember when I _need_ to.” He leaned down, carefully pressed his mouth over Hannibal’s- a brief kiss, but tender, soft, one Hannibal returned without hesitation. His hands reached out, gripped at Hannibal’s wrists and ran up along the insides of his arms. Beneath layers of clothing were scars of his own creation- of the hands of God through his prophet. Will wanted to taste them, told himself he would learn them over time. “If I need it, let me go.”

“Letting you go would kill a man.” Hannibal pressed his forehead to Will’s, and Will smiled.

“Don’t play the angel,” he whispered, “Be the Devil you are. Be my fallen one. Next time, tell me to pull the trigger, and I will.” Hannibal swallowed, reached up and once again sank a hand into Will’s hair, thumb stroking along the shell of his ear.

“Am I to be your Satan, dear Will?” He closed his eyes for a moment, “And you to be my God?”

“Yes.” Will shifted, slightly, felt Hannibal still inside him, still tied to him, still a part of his very being. “Who could love the fallen better than his creator?”

“Than perhaps you should be the devil.” Hannibal kissed him, gently, sweetly, and Will smiled.

“You morphed,” Will breathed, “you didn’t _create_. But you did fall, Hannibal. Your wings are mine now.” He kissed this time, tasted Hannibal’s relinquished control, the man’s other arm wrapping around him, holding him tightly. “Hold me like this,” Will breathed into his mouth, “And I’ll let you have your wings back whenever you ask.”

“Is that the only condition?”

“No.” Will smiled, closed his eyes, closed the world out, the snow and the cold and the barn so far away and every person he had or ever would meet. There was no one else in this silent world except him and Hannibal. “You have to love me, Hannibal. Like you cannot even love yourself.”

The arm around Will tightened, and Will had his answer. He drank down another kiss like heavy wine, allowed himself to be drunk on Hannibal for the night. Come morning he could pick up the pieces of his shattered heaven and created his own throne of glass shards within Hannibal’s hell.

**Author's Note:**

> I was not allowed to sleep until this was done (it took a little over two hours I think). I hope it was worth it. And I'm sorry but I love Christian imagery with these two, oh boy.


End file.
